With a deep, unconscious part of her mind, Selma Bengtsson understood what he was doing. She stirred, half opened her eyes, murmured something that sounded like “I love you.” He pressed her against him and felt her sink back into sleep. At the same moment, he realised that the vampire was gone, and he was alone again.
The moonlight had moved around to the dressing table. He could hear the lapping of the waves in the faint breeze. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. The girl beside him was a complication. Now he understood what had been happening, and was appalled at his own ignorance, his capacity for ignoring the messages from his subconscious. For days, the vampire had been using him, sucking energy from Jelka and the children. His unconscious resistance had made this difficult. When the three girls had placed their hands on him, earlier in the evening, the vampire had suddenly become alert, sucking up the energy as it flowed from them. Subconsciously, the girls had been puzzled; it was like pouring tea into a cup, and watching the cup remain empty. At the same time, they were powerfully attracted by Carlsen. The other two would willingly have done what Selma Bengtsson had done, even though they knew — as she did — that Carlsen was an energy vampire. He filled them with a sense of mystery, a desire for surrender. If he summoned them now, using his awakened powers, they would come to the bedroom and offer themselves. He felt a stir of desire, which he instantly repressed; the vampire responded to desire like a shark to blood.
He woke up, aware of the dawn. Selma was leaning over him, brushing his mouth with her lips. He realised with surprise that her energies had recovered. She was still low, but no longer close to the danger level. And now she wanted him to take her again. He was overcome by a sense of absurdity. She aroused in him a basic tenderness, but it was a tenderness that he usually reserved for his wife and children. It struck him suddenly that her body was Jelka’s. Both were embodiments of a female principle that lay beyond them, looking out of the body of every woman in the world as if out of so many windows.
He caressed her shoulder. “You’d better go to your own room now. It’s getting light.”
“I’d rather stay with you. Make love to me again.”
She bent down and kissed him. He shook his head. She asked: “When are you going back to London?”
“Today.”
“Then make love to me.”
“No. Lie down.”
She lay back on the pillow. He began to stroke her gently, his hand running from her shoulder, over her breast, down to her knees. He allowed his own energy to flow into her. She sighed and closed her eyes like a contented child, breathing more and more deeply. He began to kiss her at the same time. A sweetness of contentment rose in her, communicating itself to him; then he felt her drift into sleep. He lay beside her, feeling depleted but contented. He had taken nothing from her; only given back a little of the life force he had taken earlier. At least he was not yet a vampire…
There was a knock at the door, and the handle turned. He sat up, calling: ” Vem är där?” A girl’s voice said something about coffee. “Leave it there, please.”
Selma Bengtsson said sleepily: “What time is it?”
“A quarter to eight.”
She sat up. “My God! I must go!”
When she disappeared into the bathroom, Carlson brought in the tray with the coffee and climbed back into bed. The lake was glittering in the morning sunlight. As he sipped the coffee, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his sensations. He felt tired; but it was no longer the strange lassitude he had experienced since he returned to earth.
Selma came out of the bathroom, now fully dressed; he thought she looked as beautiful and immaculate as if she had just dressed for dinner. She leaned over and kissed him. “Would you mind looking outside the door to see if anyone is there?”
He did as she asked; the corridor was empty. She pressed against him for a moment, then hurried out; he closed the door quietly behind her. There was a strange relief in being alone.
He had just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door; he called: ” Stig in!” It was Fallada.
“Good morning. What time did you get to bed?”
“About half past two. You know, I was mistaken about the Count. He’s certainly no crank.”
Carlsen said: “I never thought he was.”
Fallada stood staring out of the window. He said: “We talked about you. He thinks your encounter with that woman might have affected you more than you realise.”
Carlsen started to speak, and experienced again the deep reluctance he had felt before. As Fallada stood, silent, he overruled it with an effort of will. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
The sound of the gong vibrated up the stairs. Fallada asked: “Can it wait until after breakfast?”
“I expect so. In fact, I’d like Geijerstam to be present too.”
Fallada looked at him curiously but said nothing.
The others, including Selma, were already seated. The breakfast room faced east, and the sunlight was dazzling. Geijerstam stood up. “Good morning. I hope you slept well?”
“Heavily.” Carlsen felt that satisfied the interests of both honesty and accurary.
He sat between Selma and Louise. Geijerstam said: “We are all hoping to persuade you to stay another day at least.”
Carlsen looked across at Fallada. “It’s up to Hans. I’m free, but he has work to do.”
Annaleise Freytag said: “Oh, please stay a little longer.”
Reaching out for the toast, Carlsen’s hand brushed that of the French girl. Instantly and without any doubt, he knew she knew about Selma Bengtsson. The knowledge startled him. At the same time, he found himself desiring her. It was not the usual masculine desire to undress an attractive girl. It was connected to the life and warmth that vibrated from her young body. He wanted to press his nakedness against hers and gently suck life from her. A moment later he realised he felt the same about Annaleise, and that his desire endowed him with the power of reading her mind. Both girls knew that Selma had spent the night in his room. He even knew how they knew; Selma had left her door slightly ajar, with the light still on. Louise had passed the door at seven-fifteen, looked inside, and seen that the bed was undisturbed.
He ate his breakfast abstractedly, replying in monosyllables to questions, fascinated by this new power. He had occasionally experienced something of the sort with Jelka, when they were very intimate: a sense of being connected, so their emotions were experienced simultanously by both. He had felt it as he held his children when they were babies. And now, he remembered, he had experienced it as a child as he stood in a garden one summer morning, leaning against a tree. In all these cases, it had been a deep, subconscious feeling that never reached the realm of conscious knowledge. Now it was more conscious and more detailed. With very little effort he could feel that Louise Curel’s brassiere was tight, and the left strap was cutting into her skin. He knew Annaleise had kicked off her shoes because she liked the feeling of the deep carpet against her bare feet. Both of them were envious of Selma Bengtsson. Annaleise wanted him to stay because she wanted to remain close to him; Louise believed that he was physically attracted to her and would sleep with her if he got the opportunity. Selma’s feelings disturbed him. She was in a state of almost feverish infatuation, and it was costing her an effort not to reach out and touch him under the table. She had seen the photograph of Jelka and the children, but it made no difference. She was thinking about coming to live in London, and was wondering whether Fallada could offer her a job. She believed she would be contented to be his mistress, without demanding anything more; in fact, she hoped to supplant Jelka. There was a hard-headed, determined element about her that troubled him.
He tried to read Geijerstam’s thoughts, but it was impossible. He felt no desire for Geijerstam; consequently, his mind remained closed. The same was true of Fallada. In Fallada, he could dimly sense an uneasiness; but when he tried to learn more, the contact seemed to break.
He tried to decide whether the vampire was still inside him, sucking energy through him. His experience last night had taught him how to observe her presence. As far as he could determine, she was not there. In that case, why did he desire the women who were seated at the table? The answer made his heart contract: because he wanted them. For himself, not for her. For a moment he struggled with a sense of panic that verged on nausea. Then he remembered that he meant to tell Geijerstam about it; the thought brought a sense of relief.
He was glad when breakfast was over; his appetite had vanished. Geijerstam said: “I usually take a walk along the shores of the lake, or a row to the landing stage on the other side. Would you both care to join me?”
Fallada said: “Of course.”
Selma Bengtsson asked: “May we come too?”
“I think not, my dear. We have things to discuss. And you have your studies.”
The disappointment that streamed from her was so intense that Carlsen was tempted to intercede. As he left the room, he was aware of her eyes staring at his back, willing him to turn and smile at her; at the same time, he was aware that the other girls were observing him closely. He went out without looking back.
The air was mild and full of the smell of spring. Now the life field of the girls was no longer disturbing his equilibrium, he felt better. With relief, his senses turned outward to the sunlight, and the delight was so intense that it was almost painful.
As soon as they were among the trees, walking towards the south end of the island, he said: “Is there somewhere we could sit down? I want to tell you something.”
Geijerstam pointed. “There is a bench by the inlet.”
A few hundred yards away, a small stream ran into the lake. Geijerstam said: “This flows from a spring at the top of the hill. We call it the Well of Saint Eric. According to the legend, Saint Eric spent the night praying near the hilltop, in a hermit’s hut. The next day, he was leading his men into battle against the Finns. The next morning, the spring had burst from the ground — a sign that his prayer had been heard.”
A rough wooden bench, carved from a section of tree trunk, had been erected where the stream joined the lake. Geijerstam sat down; the trunk of an immense elm provided support for their backs.
Carlsen began speaking immediately, as if afraid of interruption. “Something strange happened in the night. Miss Bengtsson came to my room.”
Geijerstam smiled, raising his eyebrows. “And what is strange about that, my dear Commander?” From his response, Carlsen sensed that he knew already.
“Please let me finish…” Suddenly, as he had feared, the reluctance was there; it was so strong that he felt as though a hand were gripping his windpipe. His face flushed; his heart began to pound with the effort. When he spoke, his voice sounded tight and breathless. The others looked at him in surprise. He stammered out the words, determined to say them at all costs. “I don’t believe she intended to stay the night — in fact, I know she didn’t, because she left her door open with the light on. All she wanted to tell me was that I’d been stealing her energy… What’s more, I didn’t intend to sleep with her. I’ve been married for five years and in all that time I’ve never even kissed another woman.”
Fallada said: “Are you all right?”
In spite of the sunlight, his teeth had begun to chatter, and his body had become icy cold. He clenched his fists and pressed them against his thighs. It was not unlike the sensation he used to experience when taking off from earth during his training as an astronaut. He continued to speak, although his voice was choked: “Just let me finish. You see, she was right. I am a vampire. I realised that when she touched me. That damn woman’s still there. But she’s inside me. I’m not mad. I know that… I know this sounds strange, but even now, something’s trying to stop me from telling you this.” He leaned back against the tree trunk, and the pressure brought a feeling of comfort. He breathed deeply. “Let me alone for a moment. I’ll be all right.” It took more than a minute for him to master the trembling. The knowledge that he had already told them the most important part made it easier. He wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief.
Geijerstam said gently: “Don’t distress yourself. Let me tell you something now. I already knew most of what you were going to tell me. I knew about it last night, when Selma said you had taken more energy than she expected. And when you told me about your encounter with the vampire woman, I knew what had happened.” He placed his hand on Carlsen’s. “I can tell you this: it is not as serious as you think.”
Carlsen said heavily: “I hope you’re right.”
Fallada said: “Can you describe what happened?”
“I’ll try.” As soon as he began to speak, he felt calmer. As he described it, he concentrated on accuracy in the detail, and this made it easier. He ended by speaking of his insights at breakfast.
After a silence, Geijerstam said: “And so now you are convinced you are a vampire too?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“No. I believe you have become aware of the vampirism that exists in all human beings. That is all.”
Carlsen had to control rising irritation. “I could have drained away her vitality until she died of exhaustion. Is that the vampirism that exists in all human beings?”
“No. But I believe it is a possibility that exists at this point in human evolution. This creature has not turned you into a vampire. She has only awakened the seed of a new development. And it is a development that has possibilities of good as well as evil.”
Carlsen asked quickly: “In what way?”
“To begin with, it has given you a deeper power of sympathy and insight. You didn’t destroy Selma, did you? In fact, you gave her energy. You have an instinctive sense that lovemaking should involve give and take.”
There was a silence, broken only by the whistling of birds and the water breaking on the pebbles. Carlsen said finally: “The fact remains that she’s turned me into a vampire. She’s given me abnormal desires that I didn’t possess before — and the power to carry them out.”